


i do these things (it's all because of you)

by endofadream



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Civil War Fix-It, M/M, because we need this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 15:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6860098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endofadream/pseuds/endofadream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wants to say: <i>Sometimes, you’re the only thing keeping me alive.</i> Wants to grab Bucky’s shoulders and tell him <i>do you realize how much you mean to me? How horrible life was when I thought you were dead? How many times I tried to visit your grave and had to turn away before I could reach it, because maybe if I didn’t see it then it wouldn’t be true?</i></p>
<p>Steve Rogers may be many things, though, but brave with his feelings is not one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i do these things (it's all because of you)

**Author's Note:**

> jumping on the end-credit-scene fix-it fic bandwagon, because we deserve more and i just wanted a hug, damn it. title from "i'll be alright without you" by journey because...well, because. this was so dialogue heavy since it started out as my own script for this scene and was so unimaginably hard to expand from that. like. why.

It’s just misty enough outside to mirror the foggy, clouded feeling that’s been plaguing Steve since the bunker. He stares out the window as the doctors tend to Bucky, patching up what’s left of his arm and talking in low voices that carry like the rumble of distant thunder. Wakanda is beautiful, lush green with sprawling mountains, and Steve almost never wants to leave. Wonders how easy it’d be to make a new life here, to disappear off the map for good.

There was a time when he thought that getting out of the ice might have been a good thing. Now that time is in the rearview mirror, getting smaller and smaller at each wince that Bucky lets out and each blankly distant stare he gives to the wall. The repercussions of the job have always been known to Steve, but he never thought that he’d be seeing them on the person that means the most.

“He’s made up his mind,” one of the doctors says to Steve in a quiet voice. She, too, stares out into the green-gray landscape. “He thinks it would be best until we can discover a cure.”

“And you tried to talk him out of it?” asks Steve. Unbidden, his right hand curls into a fist at his side, and it takes a moment for him to relax it. She nods and casts him a sidelong glance.

“He believes that it is the safest route. We are already working on it, and I assure you, Captain Rogers, that our tech is the best in the world—”

“I know.” Steve forces a smile and turns to her. She’s a small thing, petite but shapely, and doesn’t flinch to hold his gaze. “I appreciate your help. Is it all right if I go talk to him?”

She nods and excuses herself, disappearing through one of the wide glass doors into another room. Bucky’s back is to him, and he takes a moment just to look, trying to swallow down the horrible hysterical nausea that’s risen up in him. He could have saved Bucky. Could have prevented him from getting hurt. If he had just gotten to Bucky a little sooner, if he hadn’t let Bucky take the shield, if he hadn’t just been a little too slow—

“Bucky,” Steve starts, walking around the table; his voice gives out, a fragile, cracked thing, and he has to clear his throat before he can continue. “You know you don't have to do this.”

Bucky, looking small from his perch on the table, gives Steve a half-smile and says, “Yeah, Steve, I do.”

_No,_ Steve wants to say. _Peggy is gone and you’re all that I have left. You’re the last person who knows_ me _, not the science experiment. You’re the last person alive who believed in me even when my ma was clutching her rosary at my bedside, ready to call in the priest. You’re the last person who didn't look at me funny all those times I tried to stand up for myself. I can keep you safe. Please, just let me keep you safe._

He wants to say: _Sometimes, you’re the only thing keeping me alive._ Wants to grab Bucky’s shoulders and tell him _do you realize how much you mean to me? How horrible life was when I thought you were dead? How many times I tried to visit your grave and had to turn away before I could reach it, because maybe if I didn’t see it then it wouldn’t be true?_

Steve Rogers may be many things, though, but brave with his feelings is not one of them.

“I never had a choice in the matter,” Bucky continues, and he lifts his chin a little. “I want to now. I want to do this on my own terms—because I can, not because I’m being forced to.”

“I can’t keep losing you,” Steve murmurs. It comes out hoarse and quiet, like the words themselves are battling their way, weary and wounded, out of his mouth. His eyes stray towards Bucky’s left side, at the stump of his arm. T’Challa had promised a new one with updated tech that would cause Bucky less strain but Bucky had turned it down, mind already made up. “Don’t do this.”

“I have to,” Bucky says. “I can’t…you saw what happened.”

“We can find the book,” Steve replies, but Bucky shakes his head.

“Do you know how they broke me the first time? By telling me that you were dead. By making me believe that, somehow, I had killed you. I can’t go through that again, Steve. I’m not that strong. All someone needs to do is find that book again and I’m gone.”

“But it’s not—”

“It’s as much me as the person you’re talking to right now.”

“Then I’ll run with you,” says Steve, his voice rising. Desperation had been what had driven him to search for Bucky in the first place and Steve will gladly let it take him out of the public eye for good. He can’t lose Bucky again. He’ll die if he loses Bucky again. Bucky is his heart and his lungs and the twisting strands of DNA in the very essence of his being. Bucky is the gravity that keeps his axis spinning, the north to his south, _everything._ “I will. The world doesn't need Captain America anymore.”

Bucky reaches out and places his hand on Steve’s cheek. He’s still smiling but it has never quite reached his eyes and remains, instead, a flimsy, cheap imitation. “Yes, it does.”

Steve thinks of the look on Tony’s face, recalls the clang of the shield as it fell to the floor when he chose love over glory. Tony had gotten one thing right: the shield has never belonged to him. He never wanted it in the first place.

Steve isn't so sure that Bucky is right. This feels like before, back when Bucky would sacrifice his own things if they’d benefit Steve more. It’s good to know that at least that hasn't changed, but it had annoyed Steve then and it annoys him now, especially when Bucky is safe with the promise of a king’s protection, hidden away in Wakanda where it’ll take months for anyone to find them if anyone even tried. It’s a cop out, a sacrifice, and Steve is sick of the blood-stench of sacrifice.

“But what if I need you?” he asks a little desperately. He brings his hand up to grip the back of Bucky’s where it still rests on his cheek just to feel the warm life of it, the pulse of blood through veins and the shift of skin as Bucky flexes his fingers. “What if I need you, Buck?”

“Then I’ll be right here,” replies Bucky, nodding back towards the chamber, and Steve lets go. “I’m goin’ nowhere, Steve; that’s for you. The world still does need you.” He pauses and swallows hard and when Steve blinks it’s like the years melt away and they’re teenagers again, unsure of themselves and struggling to find a solid foothold in the world. “I need you.”

Steve startles at the feeling of Bucky’s hand sliding down to the nape of his neck, and again as Bucky leans in, haltingly, hesitant eyes flicking up and then down. Something in Steve loosens, unspooling at the naked look on Bucky’s face. Vulnerability isn't something he’s used to on Bucky: even when they didn't even have two pennies to rub together Bucky kept the brave face, never let Steve see how worried he was about rent, or food, or whether or not this job or that job would last more than two weeks. Now, with his hollow eyes and gaunt cheeks, vulnerability is a picture even more striking, proof that neither of them are the same boys who walked out of Brooklyn during the war.

The press of lips to his has Steve sucking in a breath, eyes widening before sliding shut. He leans into it, hand coming up to run through Bucky’s hair, gathering it at the nape of his neck and holding, gentle. Bucky’s lips are soft and supple, the shadow on his cheeks rough when Steve tilts his head and slides their lips together at a different angle, cupping Bucky’s jaw with his other hand and trailing his thumb over his cheek. This is a type of hunger he’s never felt before: not with Peggy, not with Sharon, not with any of the dames he’s kissed.

This hunger is the type that grips you and shakes you and reminds you that it’s there with a ferocity that has Steve weak-kneed and making a small noise into Bucky’s mouth. It’s the type that comes from a culmination too-many years in the making, of fervent nights under the thin sheets in their old apartment and grief-filled nights in his new, when orgasm would only bring a sob of the name of the man Steve thought would never come back. It’s the hunger of two paths finally converging, their parallel planes twisting to meet the way they should have met decades ago.

When Bucky pulls back Steve feels like a piece of him has been pulled back as well, that young kid from Brooklyn again trailing doe-eyed after his best friend in a time when no one would have allowed them to be together. Sadness swells sour Bucky’s hooded eyes as he reaches out to touch Steve’s elbow before letting his hand drop to his lap.

“I’ve never had very good timing and I’m sorry for that, Stevie,” Bucky says, looking at the floor. He wets his lips and the words wind their way around Steve’s heart and grip. “But I just…I couldn't do this again without at least—letting you know.” They tighten, then, squeezing the breath out of him and spreading a dull ache through his chest that works its way to his fingers and toes and leaves him tingling-numb.

“Buck,” Steve breathes.

Bucky looks at him, and Steve says, “You never answered me before: why did you pull me from the water?”

And this time, there is no hesitation. Bucky’s eyes don’t leave Steve’s when he says, “Because I loved you.”

The past tense hurts enough to make Steve flinch, but still he stresses, “You love me.”

Bucky shakes his head, minute. “I don’t think I deserve love anymore.” It’s mechanical, the voice of the Soldier, of someone repeating something they’ve been told over and over but that they don't quite believe. Steve wonders, not for the first time, how many different ways they’ve used to break Bucky, and just the thought stirs up a maelstrom of white-hot rage that makes him tremble, knuckles aching for something to punch. Bucky wraps his arm around his middle, hunching in slightly, and Steve finally lets his tenuous control slip.

“ _Bullshit._ ” Even Steve is surprised at the vehemence with which he says it. Bucky flinches, blinking at him owlishly, and Steve takes a deep breath to control the quaver when he speaks. It’s never done him any good to lose his temper. “You deserve everything, Buck,” he says. “You deserve me. You deserve a second chance. You deserve to live your life without fear of HYDRA or of being found. I’d give everything to you if I could.”

“I know,” Bucky says simply. “All I ever wanted was to give you a good life, Steve.”

Steve steps forward and cups Bucky’s face. “You did. What we had wasn't perfect, but if I could go back to it now, ailments and all, I’d do it. You’re worth more to me than this body and this title.”

Bucky kisses him again, a little more desperate this time, and against Bucky’s lips Steve murmurs, “You remembered.” He thinks of the book, of his photo carefully tucked away neat in the pages. He hadn’t had a chance to read what was written, but his eyes had caught on hasty scribbles of his name. “Why didn’t you come back?”

“Because I couldn't be him.” Bucky grips the back of Steve’s head and kisses him once, twice, breaths shaking when he pulls them in. He’s shaking, body trembling under Steve’s hands. “I’m not—”

Steve pulls back quickly. “Don’t you dare say you’re not my Bucky. You’ll always be my Bucky.”

Bucky glares at him, but it’s short-lived and quickly gives way to resigned exhaustion as he drops his gaze to the floor. “When my memories started to come back one of the first things I remembered was how I felt about you, and it was so fresh, like a kick straight to the chest. I thought I was gonna drown the first time I remembered how I felt when you looked at me. How I would do anything, kill anyone, just to protect you. I wanted to tell you so many times over the years, but every time I chickened out for whatever reason. And then when I shipped out I thought for sure that, _yup, this is it: I’m gonna die in some godforsaken trench in goddamn Europe without ever telling Steve how I feel because I’m too much of a coward_. My pop always said that loving isn't easy, but the hardest part is letting it in.” When he looks at Steve this time he’s all soft angles, gently-curved lips and fond blue eyes. “Letting you in was never hard.”

It hovers unspoken in the air— _letting you go was_ —but they ignore it.

“I was selfish,” Steve admits. “I’ve always been selfish when it comes to you.”

“About damn time,” Bucky says, and there’s a shadow of his old self under the shadows of the new. When he smiles this time it touches his eyes, stirs up those old black-and-white images that the world has seen and that Steve has missed so much over the last few years. The Buck that he’d fallen in love with is still there, tired but refusing to give up for good. “All those years spent taking care of you because you couldn’t leave things be. Only took you ninety to think of yourself for once.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve says, “I’m a stubborn old mule, just like you told me over and over.”

“Stubborn little Steve Rogers,” Bucky muses in that faraway voice he adopts when he’s reminiscing. “That’s what Mrs. MacNamara downstairs used to call you.”

“Yeah, Buck,” says Steve, smiling fondly. “She’d always call you a saint for puttin’ up with me.”

Bucky scoffs and turns his head. “Think it’s the other way around, now.”

“Hey.” Steve gentles his tone, edging a little closer. He hasn't forgotten how skittish Bucky is these days, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn't a little skittish now, too. “I meant what I said. You’re worth it. No matter what happens, you’re always worth it.” He takes a deep breath and tries to quell the battle march of his heart in his chest. “You remember _The Wizard of Oz_ , right? We saw that at the pictures.”

Bucky is still looking away but his cheek bulges slightly in a smile. “Took us two weeks to be able to actually save up. The damn monkeys haunted me for a month.”

Steve breathes out a weak laugh. “Yeah, Buck.” God, he’s shaking harder than he did in the moments before stepping into the chamber. “You remember how Dorothy’s life was in black-and-white until she reached Oz?” He doesn’t wait for a response, just barrels on before he loses his nerve. “That was how my life was before I met you.” Bucky looks at him now, eyes a little wide, a little hopeful, and Steve nods. “And even though I woke up in this crazy new world where everything is lit and colored with all those neon signs and billboards, until you came back into it, it was like it was black-and-white again to me. Living without you…it isn’t really living. Never has been.”

Bucky gives him a crooked grin. “You sayin’ I’m your Oz?”

Steve laughs a little wetly, and it’s his turn to look away as he blinks back tears. “I’m sayin’ that you’re my goddamn life, Buck. Have been since I was five years old.”

“‘Best friends since childhood…’” Bucky recites, impish, and Steve laughs a little louder, enough to warrant a look from one of the doctors around. He flushes and ducks his head, starts grinning all over again when he finds that Bucky is looking at him and trying to suppress his own laugh. it could be just like old times if Bucky would let it, and Bucky must sense Steve’s thought because he says, “I don’t wanna leave you, Stevie, but I can’t put you in danger anymore.”

And Steve nods, because he knows, because, no matter what he says, that empty chamber is going to be filled soon. The world turns watery, oil-painting smears of color, until Steve blinks and a tear slides down his cheek. He steps back closer to the table and gathers Bucky up in his arms, twining his fingers through Bucky’s hair. Bucky immediately slides his right arm around Steve’s back and leans close, breathes in deep, and Steve murmurs, quiet, “I’ll be here when you get out, okay? We’re gonna fix you and you’re gonna get out.”

Bucky lets out a hitching breath and nods against Steve’s chest. “You’d better be, punk.”

Steve smiles, stroking through Bucky’s hair. His heart is beating fast and he knows that Bucky can feel it, too, as he tightens his hold around Steve’s middle. “I’ll be here. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, pal,” Bucky says, and Steve kisses him once more, brushing away the tear that slides down Bucky’s cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”

And, later, when Steve asks one of the doctors for paper and a pencil and receives them with a perplexed look, he just smiles and pulls a chair over to the chamber, flipping the notebook open to a blank page. Casts one forlorn glance up before he begins with a long, sweeping line, the beginning shadows of metal plating and the half-body of a star.

**Author's Note:**

> check me out on [tumblr](http://endofadream.tumblr.com) if that's your thing!


End file.
